Across the Universe
by TheXGrayXLady
Summary: Trapped in a world where they never became dragons, in a world ruled by evil, Raimundo fights to retain his memories and set right what went wrong. AU, Raikim.
1. Prologue

**Alright then, I know I should be working on Dragon Heart rather than starting another fairly large story plan, but to be completely honest, the AP test, track, and drama related break I took from DH has sort of made me lose interest in it. I do still intend to finish it, it's all planned, I just don't know when it's going to get done. Probably mostly over the summer and stuff. Anyway, This is my new story. It's kind of sort of an AU, and I'm not going to give away too many details yet, but there will be OC use. Heavy OC use. Everybody gets their old (un)favorite snarky sorceress, plus new friends. The title's still a work in progress. I'm probably going to change it and am looking for suggestions because this one sucks mold. Now that all that's dealt with, on with the story!**

**Disclaimer: With AP tests out of the way, my drive for funny disclaimers is back! Or not depending on your view of me being funny. Now, Amendment 3 of the CSI guide book, section 7, subsection 413, appendix 42, subappendix 54, subsubappendix World Cup Soccer states that I own nothing unless the pig in a jar leaves Grissom's office. And there is another Amendment, you know the one, if you don't, then you've disappointed Sanders, that states that the pig must remain there at all times. Thusly, I own nothing. **

_**Prologue**_

A cry of pain flew from his lips, only to be snatched away by the gale, and his body arched as the blade tore through his flesh. It drew away from his body, crimson blood and bronze metal flashing as lightning split the skies. The bronze of the spear head didn't shine like the eyes of its owner though. Those gleaming gold eyes shone with a dangerous light, a kind of bloodlust that he couldn't quite reconcile with Chase's human form. They were fiery draconian eyes, reveling in the hunt.

He fell to his knees clutching at his bleeding shoulder. He didn't know where they'd screwed up this time around. It should have been an easy Wu. In the grand scheme of things, the Euclid Measure wasn't in the least bit significant, unless anybody ever needed to prove that a triangle was, in fact, a triangle, in which case he figured that they had bigger problems than whatever reason they needed to know that in the first place. They'd just arrived on the mesa and everything went to hell in a handbasket.

Jack's bots must have gotten an upgrade, because they were keeping both the rest of the warriors and Dojo at bay without much of a struggle. Then Wuya and Chase got involved and everything just got worse. Whereas whenever they fought before, there was always a certain collectedness to Chase Young, now, he was a berserker out for blood. The storm wasn't helping either, what with the combined lightning and winds, winds he could not control, making it too difficult to fly away.

He caught a glimpse of the Wu in a flash of lightning. He thought he could still get to it before Chase, but he didn't know if it was even worth it. There was no way out though, nothing else to do but fight and hope that the Heylin would get bored with them. Although maybe if he could get the Wu, make a break for it in the next flash and take it, maybe it would draw the attacks off of the rest of the team.

Chase raised his blade above his head, mad laughter swallowed up by the boom of thunder, and prepared a final blow. His leg muscles tensed in preparation to leap out of the way, and just as the sorcerer swung the spear, he jumped away, blood still slipping through the fingers clutching at his wound.

He was so close to the Wu, there was no way he wasn't going to make it. Turning back for a moment, he saw the robots and the witch drawing away from his friends and running towards him. They were going to make it. The rest of them would be able to get away from here. Rain dripped from his waterlogged hair onto his face, running into his eyes and obscuring his vision. He didn't see the rocks before he tripped on them.

As he struck the ground, bloody shoulder first naturally, he let out another strangled groan and checked behind him again. The wave of robots was still far enough away, but he couldn't see Chase. That worried him more than anything else. So long as he could keep track of the sorcerer, he could more or less handle him. Without that factor, he was helpless.

With his good arm, he pulled himself towards the Wu, he could hear his friends crying out to him, but he ignored them. He needed to keep the villains occupied for as long as possible. A moving target was more of a threat to them than if he laid motionless on the ground. Finally, his fingers fell on the gold Measure, but before he could let out a sigh of relief, the Wu began to glow gold.

He glanced up and found himself staring into those bright gold dragon eyes. "Come now. You surely don't believe you can ever defeat me." He gave a subdued laugh, starkly contrasting the out of control madness of earlier. The bloodlust was still in his eyes though. "I challenge you to a Xiaolin Showdown. The game will be king of the mesa. My Changing Chopsticks for your Moby Morpher."

In the next few moments, the mesa was still and silent. He couldn't win this in his condition, but none of his friends was in any condition to take his place either. They couldn't afford to lose a powerful Wu like the Moby Morpher. Especially not to Chase. Hannibal had been bad enough.

More rain dripped into his face as he stared into the gold glow of the Wu. At the back of his mind, the vague notion that he was about to do something that none of them had ever done before formed, but didn't really register. It was the only viable course of action.

"No," he said, his voice quiet, but not yet defeated. Suddenly, the gold glow changed to white and filled his entire field of vision. He felt a vague sensation like something passing through him and heard a ringing in his ears, and then he was falling, falling through a field of white.

**So, let me know what you think of this. Use that fracking _snazzy_ new button. Seriously, that thing is just so snazzy. The sheer amount of snazz makes you want to press it and type stuff. You know you want to, so just do it. Give in to the snazz. **


	2. Raimundo Learns of His Obligations

**Alright, so more of this. I rather like this fic. It's just really really fun for me to write. It's so neatly planned and it's still got that lovely new fic smell. It's truly a wonderful smell. Almost a bit like fabreeze. Or bananas. Sorry, I'm wicked excited because I saw the Avengers earlier and it was legen...dary. You have no idea how much I'm holding back from totally fangirling right now, but I have to be the sane one out of my friends so I've conditioned myself so that I can't just start gushing about how cool Robert Downey Jr is, how Tom Hiddleston has insanely pretty eyes, or how Chris Evans has a really nice bum. Let's just leave it at, I'm really happy right now. **

**787bluegreen: Thanks for the review! Glad to know you like it.  
**

**Spadefire: IKR? Snazzy is a fracking cool word. It has a nice shape to it, like exactly proper parts sharp angles and curves. My explanation for the Wu is pretty much this: I needed a pointless Wu and Geometric proofs are pretty much the definition of pointless. Anyway, thanks for liking this fic and my OCs!  
**

**Tornadowierdo: Yep. Rai's the one being stabbed. It is him. You're right. He is really fun to stab. Sorry about the whole pronouns business. Yes, refusing the showdown...You will all see the dire consequences of that eventually.  
**

**Disclaimer: So...House series finale...there was no puppy. You all know what that means right? If you've been reading my stuff for this long and don't then I judge you. I judge you harshly.  
**

**_Chapter One: Raimundo Learns of His Obligations  
_**

He fell. It could have been for moments, it could have been for hours, but he fell. His eyes shut to the endless expanse of snowy white, he fell. Burning with pain and exhaustion, he fell. He felt currents rushing around him, both like air and water, but at the same time as different from them as could be. And then all of a sudden, it stopped, as caught by some sort of sheet.

He tentatively opened his eyes and saw the white striped fabric of an awning holding him up.

"The hell?" he muttered, taking inventory of both his surroundings and himself. Raimundo drew his hand away from his shoulder and it came away clean. He looked at his body in shock, but there was no wound. However, his clothes, while simple, were completely foreign to him. He wore a sweat stained, but otherwise ordinary white tee-shirt, dark cotton pants, and dark sneakers, and he was carrying a small canvas bag.

The street around him was mostly dark, with a few flickering lamps and neon signs proudly proclaiming, "Best Chinese Take Away." The little he could see were the darkened shop fronts and a guy walking at the end of a crosswalk. It was mostly quiet, save for some yelling in the distance. It really could have been any street in any city on earth, but at the same time, it was foreign and unnerving.

One moment, he was bleeding out in the middle of nowhere and the next he was whole and sitting on a shop awning in strange clothes with no idea how he got there. He was confused as fuck and more than a bit bothered by it.

The yelling became louder and he could make out words now. He wasn't at all concerned with that though. They could catch whatever had gotten away from them on their own. His priorities were first, find out where the hell he was, second, get back to the temple, and third, figure how the hell he got where the hell he was.

He swung his feet over the edge of the awning and gauged the jump. It was only ten feet or so to the ground, it should be an easy landing. He'd dealt with worse in training accidents and he always landed on his feet. He was just about to jump, when a cry of, "There!" startled him, causing him to lose his balance and fall.

"Wind," he yelled, thrusting his hand out in front of him as he fell. However, nothing happened and he felt something in his shoulder slip out of place as he hit the ground.

"Now we've got you," a deep, smooth baritone said as five people gracefully landed around him.

"Dirty thief," an accented tenor commented as he was jerked to his feet. Stabbing pain cut deep into his shoulder has his hands were cuffed behind his back. So much for being pain free.

"Dude, so not me," he said, struggling against their iron grip, despite the pain of a dislocated shoulder. He'd had way worse than this in training.

"Raimundo Pedrosa, you have the obligation to remain silent. If you fail to fulfill this obligation, you will be made to do so. Due to your extensive record and quote unquote smartass attitude, your incarceration period will be no less than three years. Also due to your attitude, you will not be permitted to appeal this decision," a blonde woman said as they marched him down the street.

"I don't know who you're looking for, but it's not me," he said, making a failed attempt to sweep kick the man holding him. He would give them this much, they knew how to restrain a prisoner.

"Let the record show that the prisoner was informed of both his obligations and the consequences of leaving them unfulfilled," the deep voice said. Then there was a faint pricking sensation in his arm and everything went black.

**_X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X_**

"And this is the bridge," the dark skinned man said.

If he weren't so excited to be on an actual airship, he would have rolled his eyes. Everybody knew what the bridge of an airship looked like. Or at least everybody who actually paid attention in class.

While the captain gave an, in his opinion, extremely redundant tour, he let his eyes drink in every beautiful millimeter of the command center. The flashing lights and ticking meters played a symphony of light and sound in his mind, a symphony he would one day conduct. Sun shone through the clouds and the glass quarto-sphere around them to dance on the gleaming bronze dials the crewmembers were constantly turning and adjusting. In their gold and brass uniforms, they seemed almost a part of the machine, and for as well as they understood it, they may have been. The groan of the massive gears operating the wings and the hum of the electrical current from the ARC Generator gave almost a heartbeat to the ship. And the captain's chair, most beautiful of all, sat above everything.

Its deep emerald green stood out against the golden tones of the bridge. Set high enough so that one could see all they commanded, it was a beacon of the future. His future. Three years and he would be given his own command.

The airships were still relatively new, the Emperor's Mechanist had only started producing them a year ago, so everybody in his officer's training program wanted one. They didn't have what he did though. They didn't have his brains, his drive, his ability, they were nothing like him. He was the top of his class, he could do anything set before him, and that which was set behind and next to him as well.

The new line in production, the Avalon series, were more sleek and modern than the Victoria line, the bronze and gears replaced with sleek black and white circuitry, but he hoped he could get one of these models. If he could swing it, he wanted the Stark or the Enterprise.

As soon as he returned to the Academy tonight, he would write home and tell his mother and father about this. They'd worried about him at first, he'd been drafted as an officer almost immediately after the Emperor took over, but over the last three years they'd come to see that officer training was the best course for him. He was a natural at it and one day, he'd be the best officer the Empire had ever seen. One day, he would even be the Fleet Admiral.

He could see himself now, in the vivid green uniform befitting an Admiral, standing on the top deck of the flagship, the IAS Dragonheart, his thick, luxurious hair blowing in the breeze, an endless expanse of cloud before him…

"Come along Omi," Lady Ragnelle said, her normally soft voice sharp with the edge of one unused to issuing orders twice, breaking him from his daydream.

He sighed and darted after his class as they left for the engine rooms. One day…

**_X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X_**

"Shit," she muttered as she knocked the bucket over and dirty soapy watter covered the floor. She sighed and clenched her fists before picking up her paper towels to sop up the mess.

If there was one thing she'd learned in the last three years, it was that she wasn't cut out for menial labor, at least not mentally. Physically, she had no problems with the scrubbing and bucket hauling and other various cleaning duties, but the sheer mindless repetitively of them was slowly driving her crazy. If you added to this the fact that three years ago she'd been on top of the world and since then it'd been just one humiliation after another, not the least of which being rejection at every other job she'd applied for, the only logical conclusion was that the mental state of Ms. Kimiko Tohomiko was reaching a critical point.

She would kill for another job, any job, anything to relieve her boredom. Before her dad's company went under, she'd had a world-class education. She'd been top of her class at an elite private school. Now, she was scrubbing bathrooms at the Imperial equivalent of the DMV. As she refilled the bucket, she couldn't picture a more perfect fall from grace.

Still, she wouldn't dwell on it too much. Just because it was going to drive her bats didn't mean that she wouldn't do what it took to help pay the rent on the apartment. If that meant subjecting herself to buckets and scrub brushes, then so be it. Of course, _that_ didn't mean she would stop applying for other positions.

One of the smaller airships, the IAS Hamish, was currently docked in Tokyo for maintenance and was taking on new crewmembers. If they accepted her application, she'd more than double her current salary. With the extra money, her dad could work fewer shifts at the factory, they would have some money to set aside for starting a new business, and she would actually be able to use her skills in electronics and engineering. Plus, she might be able to do something about her wardrobe. The current dingy gray-green jumpsuit wasn't working for her. Not in any sense of the word.

She wouldn't find out about that for a few days, she'd only put in her application this morning and Mechanist positions were both competitive and highly selective. Still, as she started to scrub again, the harsh lemon scent of the soap hitting her nose, she couldn't help but hope.

**_X~X~X~X~X~X~X_**

Sparks flew at his face, safely deflected by the visor as the machine fused another set of hull plates. As he reset the controls, he couldn't help but miss the Victoria line. _Their_ hulls were held together with rivets. They didn't give off sparks every time they had to make a plate set.

Even after the last two and a half years, Clay still hadn't gotten used to the factory. Two and half years of heat and machines and that damnable feeling of confinement.

Normally, tight spaces didn't bother him. Growing up riding through narrow canyons and family reunions that crammed over thirty people under one roof made them feel completely normal to him. This was different though. He felt like he was a fish caught in a hot metal net, struggling against both it and the throng of other trapped fish, knowing that no matter how hard he fought he would never be free.

He would never again ride across the open plains, smell the fresh clean air, untainted by the metallic, unnatural scent of the factories, gaze upon the clear blue sky, or feel the earth beneath his feet. He was alright with that though. It was keeping his family safe.

After the Emperor took over, the ranch started going under. Taxes went sky high on their property and they just didn't have the money to pay. They were running out of acreage to sell off when they got the add. The factories were looking for workers and the salary they offered would be enough to keep the remains of the ranch intact. Of course, his Pa had thrown it out without a second thought, citing the fact that it was more important that they stick together as a family than to keep the ranch.

He didn't agree though. He saw how it was destroying his Ma and Pa and Jessie to lose everything. He'd dug the flair out of the recycling and hopped a train heading northwest that night and had been sending money back ever since. They hadn't questioned him when he lied about his age, he was a terrible liar, but he was big and strong for his age and he got the feeling that they wouldn't have cared anyway.

He flinched again as sparks flew from another set of plates. He could at least take some comfort in the fact that this was the easy part. Tomorrow, they'd start assembly. That was where the real work began. This was just a bit unsettling, actually building the ship was dangerous. It meant strapping into a welding harness and trusting his life to a thin cable. Still, if it meant he would earn time and a half pay for it, he was willing to make the Excalibur the pride of the fleet if he had to.

**Alright, contrary to my slightly hyper active behavior at the top of the page, I'm actually really tired. I'm just going to be quick about this and say, the more reviews this gets, the faster I update. **


	3. Chase Blows Up His Mum

**Wow...I am honestly shocked at the reception this is getting? You really think it's that good? Alright, so I'm going to keep this brief because I checked Captain America out of the library and I borrowed Thor from a friend so it's movie night at the (Insert Whatever Last Name You Choose to Give Me) household. This shall be such fun. **

**Tornadowierdo: The sort of universe with...actually you'll find about that later. No sense in giving away spoilers. ;) Thanks for the review!  
**

**Keiriala: Thanks for the review! Eh...it's sort of an alternate dimension. That's all I'm giving away right now.  
**

**Spadefire: Well, you take three parts coffee, one part vodka, and one part Irish Cream, and you mix them until...oh wait you didn't mean the cocktail...well then...ermmm...Thanks for the review! And yes, The Avengers was amazing. And no, it would be amazing if it were a Star Trek universe (TOS was my introduction to geekery), but it's just a universe where the airships are named by a total nerd.  
**

**Disclaimer: Do I even have to use this? Does anybody really care? And the question everybody wants the answer to: Do I own this? You may find the answer is identical to that of this question: Does lapsang souchong tea taste good?  
**

**_Chapter Two: Chase Blows Up His Mum_  
**

As per usual, she bit back a laugh as she surveyed her charges. If they could have looked more like the stereotype of ragtag rebels, Minerva was sure that that stupid Wind boy would be wearing a Che Guevara shirt and the Earth girl, currently doodling something in the loose dirt on the clearing floor, would probably be rolling a joint with her toes because hands were way too mainstream. As it were, the were incompetent kids with hero complexes, kept alive solely by the machinations of a pair of old men and a paranoid dragon with, perfectly sound, suspicions of her intentions.

Sure, she wouldn't exactly harm them directly, that would mean showing her hand, but she wasn't their friend. When Chase first took over, he'd made her his second in command. They knew the Dragons had escaped, along with Dojo and Master Fung, when they destroyed the temple and knew that if the remains of the Temple called her contract in, they'd have someone on the inside, so they agreed that it would be best if her involvement with the regime was kept on the down low. The only people who knew at all were Chase, Wuya, and their pet Mechanist.

It was the perfect set up. She could handle things behind the scenes, attend state functions with the excuse that she was the Emperor's mentor with everybody none the wiser as to her actual position, and she wouldn't have to take responsibility for anything. All the while, hoping that one of the air raids would catch the monks or they would just flat out forget their contract.

Unfortunately for her, they didn't and her efforts to keep her government involvement a secret really worked against her when Dojo paid her cave a visit last year. With one pot of disgusting lapsang souchong tea, she would never understand why Dojo liked that slop, the high society was over and the babysitting began. The monks didn't trust her enough to give her any important information, so she couldn't even be a proper double agent. She would occasionally mind read the Fire girl, but they didn't tell her anything important either so that was right out. At best, she could tell them where they were and they moved around every day so that wasn't even particularly useful information.

Between the babysitting and squeezing in government responsibilities, that she totally didn't have, she barely had time to plan her own coup d'etat. That wouldn't even be so bad, at least she was working, but the new Dragons were so useless, and even worse, _boring_.

Layla Osham, the Earth girl, was annoyingly perky and couldn't pay attention for more than twenty seconds at a time. Plus, she was somehow both insanely impulsive and skittish at the same time. None of this was not helped by her hero worship of Minerva.

Jermaine Jacobs, the Water boy, was alright enough, if she had to pick the least annoying, it would probably be him, but she couldn't understand a word he was saying.

The Fire girl, Mei Vo, had no spine whatsoever. She never spoke up in training, never argued, seemed almost afraid to fight someone, and never stood up for herself. In short, she was painfully boring.

The Wind boy was worst of all though. She had no idea how he became the leader. When she first met Domingo Montoya, he'd seemed decent enough. He was fairly intelligent and was a very capable fighter both with and without his sabre. However, he was religiously honorable, entitled, and the most senselessly arrogant prick she'd ever met. It was one thing to be upper class and know it, she knew that she was that way, but she could back it up.

He was absolutely clueless as to how the real world worked. He didn't even know how to do the washing. Even she could do that. She just chose not to. Thankfully, his hair trigger temper combined with the fact that he didn't have a devious bone in his body meant that she could at least have some fun with her unworthy heir.

When she'd first started working with them, Minerva was on the fence regarding her allegiances. If the new Dragons were actually useful, who was she to get in the way of overthrowing the Empire and then taking control in the ensuing chaos? However, after the last year stuck on the run with them, she realized that this was not a viable option. She would be stuck with these horrid children until she found out exactly why Chase wanted them alive.

The sorceress pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a sigh. This was going to be a long training session. They were working with magical combat today. She wanted to bring them back to her home and have them run the obstacle course, but for some reason Master Monk Guan, Master Fung, and Dojo disapproved. There was nothing wrong with her obstacle course. Fifteen hundred years made it even more interesting.

She would start out with Domingo and get that headache out of the way first. Then she would go with Layla, deal with other vexation before frustration set in. Then she would go with either Mei or Jermaine. It didn't really matter which.

"Lily, you're up. Mira, you're on deck," she said, tying her long, dark hair back into a low ponytail. "Alright, as I'm sure you're all well aware, you're facing Chase Young. I'm not entirely sure you know this, but he's one of the most accomplished sorcerers in the world and, I'm absolutely certain you don't know this, he's not exactly shy about using these powers to give you lot a sound thrashing. I'm going to demonstrate the application of combat sorcery on Liz. I want the rest of you to observe and plan out how to beat me when it's your turn."

The look that crossed Domingo's face as he realized that Layla was going to be her lab rat was priceless. He knew she would destroy the girl and he wouldn't stand to see his crush humiliated. This was perfect.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" he said, his eyes blazing.

"Dominic, you're a good two inches taller than me and you outweigh me by at least thirty pounds. If anything, Lydia's closer to my size than you, if we're not taking into account the mass of her hair," she said, keeping the same rational tone she always did.

"No. I will not stand idly by while you humiliate my teammates for your own amusement." Perhaps she'd been a bit quick to judge earlier. She _loved_ his sense of honor.

"Fine. If you want to be my demonstration, be my guest," she said, shrugging and twisting the elastic around her hair one final time. "Louisa, step back. Your boyfriend's decided to play knight in shining amour."

Both of them blushed, but they switched places without protest. She examined her deep red nails, noting that while they clashed with her eyes, it complemented her dark olive skin, as she planed her demonstration.

He would start the fight, the impatient git always did. She doesn't move, he continues his charge, and at the last possible moment, she becomes immaterial and phases through him. Unexpected inertia carries him forwards and he lands flat on his face. When he gets back up, he finds himself surrounded by mirror copies.

Being unable to tell which one's real, he sends out a wind pulse. Unfortunately for him, this stirs up the very loosely packed topsoil. The ensuing dust storm doesn't affect her of course due to her supersensory spell. With no idea where she is, he keeps on the move. She further confuses him via a taunt amplified with an echo, thereby making it seem to change locations with every syllable.

By that time, the dirt starts to settle, so as soon as he had a two-metre visual radius, she appears before him. She lazily extends her hand towards him, more magical energy than she knew what to do with arcing across her fingers. He jumps out of the way of the expected blast, which would never come because at this range and at that power level, the recoil damage would hurt her more than the initial blast would him.

While he's still in the air, she delivers a swift kick just below his ribs, knocking him out of flight. He hits the ground rolling and while still disoriented, he tries to get back to his feet. His fencing instincts kick in, and he protects his face and chest, leaving his legs open to attack. A quick sweep kick and he's back on the ground, staring up at just enough gathered magical energy to avoid significant recoil. Game, set, and match.

She sighed as she envisioned the plan. The boy was predictable, so there was a less than ten percent chance of variation, with said variation most likely coming within the dust storm.

He glared at her from across the clearing, daring her to strike first. She started a mental count down of three seconds before he lost patience and made his move. As soon as she hit one, he started a headlong charge.

Everything went according to plan at first. The dirt was harder packed than she expected, so it wasn't stirred up quite enough by the wind pulse, so she had to drop the echo from play, but in the grand scheme of things, it was insignificant. Things went otherwise perfectly. As soon as eh saw the sparks, he jumped away. But as she dissipated the energy, she heard a faint whistle and began to mentally curse.

"Everybody take cover," Master Monk Guan yelled as more whistles filed the air. Nobody needed to be told twice.

As soon as she was safely out of range of both the lazers and prying eyes, she pulled out her phone and sent out a text.

_What the hell are you doing? You're two hours early._

**R, RER, REVER, REVIVER, REVIEIVER, REVIEWEIVER. Do as the strangely written thing says both forwards and backwards. **_  
_


	4. Mr King Throws His Dinnerware

**Okay, I meant to get this up yesterday, but I didn't get back from showing until eleven. I'm sure this is the wrong forum for this, but I just want to say that I am so happy that I did well yesterday. Ozzy and I cleaned up in our division because he is such a superstar in the show ring and I didn't completely screw up with Rio. He didn't totally blast off in the lines and I got him to wait for the distances. He over-jumped a couple and missed a few lead changes, but he's a lot better than he was earlier this year so even though I didn't win anything with him I'm considering it a sucess. Anywho, moving on. **

**Spadefire: Yes. Yes it is Mr. Jermaine from New York. This will cause much humor later with Omi and his alternate universe location. Thanks so much for the review!**

**Disclaimer: I just bought this absolutely adorable purple fly bonnet for Ozzy. He is Mr. Fabulous when he wears it (and doesn't flip out because god forbid something come near his head), but it sort of wiped me out for cash for a while. I don't have the money to own Xiaolin Showdown. **

_**Chapter Three: Mr. King Throws His Dinnerware**_

A chill ran down his spine as he stared down from the top of the platform. He wasn't supposed to be here, but he had to try it just once. If his parents found out about this he would be grounded, figuratively and literally, until doomsday. This couldn't be that difficult, he watched his aunt and uncle do it all the time, this bet was as good as won.

He stretched out his arms to loosen up and took hold of the trapeze. He began to swing, gathering momentum, and set his eyes on the next bar. This would be easy. It was a short distance, he just had to make it to the other side and then Fernando would see who was a sissy.

The moment he let go, he knew he wouldn't. He didn't have enough speed to carry himself to the next bar. As he soared through the air, the world seemed to be moving in slow motion. The panicked pounding of his heart slowed to a crawl, the grain of the dark wood trapeze bar was in high definition, and it seemed as though he could feel each individual air molecule as it passed over his skin as he got closer and closer to falling.

Then just as his fingers just barely brushed the trapeze, as a feeble hope spread through his mind, everything accelerated. What happened next was a blur of desperation and fear. His fingers slapped against the bar, but before he could react, he was too far to catch it in time. He knew he was screaming, but he couldn't hear a sound. The next thing he knew was blinding pain and all consuming dark.

When he came to, he was alone on a dark city street, slumped against a building. His body blazed with pain and he bit his lip to keep from screaming, but he still couldn't stop himself. People swarmed around him and the paramedics arrived soon after. They rushed him to the hospital and between screams of agony, he tried to explain the situation.

He quickly found out that they didn't understand Portuguese, so he switched to English, he was reasonably fluent in that, but that didn't make things any easier. Later, while in a pale blue and sterile recovery room, he discovered two things. First off, he wasn't in Rio any more. His room, the pastel paint and cloudy white curtains, the ugly potted plant in the corner, and his battered body, were all in Chicago. Secondly, when both the hospital and the police ran a background check to verify his story, he may just as well have not existed.

He spent the next year and a half bouncing between recovery, government processing, and foster homes, all the while trying to understand what happened to him. He tried to contact his family, but never heard back.

Then the sky turned green and not long after that, the Emperor came to power. He was recruited for the Imperial Army, but he'd dropped training after less than three days. He fell in with Silver Dragons soon after. It's started out just so that he would have somewhere to go, but then he started doing some odd jobs for some extra cash.

The mercenaries gave him easy jobs, suited to his youth and agility, mostly stealing antiques for various government officials. Viggo never trusted him enough to give him anything big, at least not until that night. It still should have been easy, stealing the silly bottle _was_ easy. Then on his way out of the museum he ran into the Imperial police. He could remember shouting as a bullet just barely missed his ear…

"Would it kill you to keep it down?" a voice said as he awakened from his nightmare by a sharp blow to the side. He hadn't noticed that he'd been screaming the entire time.

He opened his eyes and saw the room around him. Aside from some shafts of light coming from slits in the wall, it was completely dark. A dull pain throbbed in his, probably dislocated, shoulder and he was lying on something he was vaguely sure passed off as a cot. There was something by his side that felt vaguely like mug thrown in a fit of sleep deprivation. There was a cold metal loop around his wrist and as he moved to leave his cot, the chain attached to it clinked against the metal floor.

"You're not going to get far if that's what you're going for," the voice said, a touch of boredom creeping in.

He turned to look at the source of the voice. He was across the room, sitting on his own cot. Even in silhouette, Raimundo could tell he was tall and had a rangy look about him, like he hadn't had a good meal in a while. Given his suspicions about their location, he probably hadn't.

"What's going on?" he asked, trying to hold back the panic in his voice. This proved to be a fruitless venture. "Where am I? Who are you? Where…" he started to name his friends, but stopped when he remembered that they were either safe at the temple or still out looking for him.

"They either increased the dosage on the tranqs or you're getting stupider," the man across the cell said. "I think I prefer the former. The latter is a bit terrifying to be honest. Where do you _think_ you are?"

"The Tennant," he replied without thinking. At least he was pretty sure that was the airship in their…Then he realized what he was thinking.

"No," he whispered. That nightmare he had, it was just that. A nightmare and nothing more.

"And the winner of tonight's ten million dollar prize is…" his new cellmate said, but he didn't hear.

"No." That trapeze accident didn't go down like that. The wind held him up, he caught it, he discovered his powers that day. "No." He couldn't have imagined almost four years worth of adventure and danger with the Xiaolin Temple. "No." That couldn't be his history.

"Kid, would you shut up?" It still didn't register.

"No." The world couldn't be ruled by evil. "No." The pranks on Clay, his relationship with Kimiko, whatever it was, his friendship and rivalry with Omi, they had to be real. "No." Proving that he was worthy of being the leader wasn't just in his head. "Ow."

He glanced at the thing that struck his head, a very accurately thrown plastic plate, without really seeing it, and fell to his hands and knees on the cold metal floor.

"Good. Now that I've got your attention, I'm just going to say this once. It won't do you any good to feel sorry for yourself, and your sniveling annoys me, so pick yourself up and start using actual words," his cellmate said, dragging his plate back with a laceless loafered foot. "Besides, it's not like you'll be here for long anyway."

"What do you mean?" he muttered, still trying to sort everything out. This had to be some sort of hallucination. The blast from the Wu either knocked him out or killed him and this was either the world's worst afterlife or a head trauma induced nightmare.

"You're a common criminal. The Tennant neither handles your sort nor is heading in the direction of a proper holding facility. You'll be transferred to another ship in a week or two for proper transport," he said, leaning back against the wall.

"So what are you here for?" Memories of street fights crept into his mind as he considered that he might be stuck in a small space with a violent criminal with a tendency towards dinnerware related violence.

"Damned if I know. One moment I'm handling the Tohomiko account…"

"You know the Tohomikos?" Even if this was a hallucination, he had to know if Kimiko was okay.

"No need to fanboy. Yes, I know them. Toshiro's my business partner. He's a nice guy with good taste in rice wine and even better taste in stock options. Satisfied?" His cellmate sounded almost amused at his rapid change in demeanor.

"Are they okay?" he asked. They were. This was just some hallucination, but he still had to make sure.

"Like I said, one moment I'm handling the account, the next I'm attacked in my office, bound, gagged, and tossed in here. Aside from what my various cellmates tell me, I know nothing." Raimundo's heart sank. Even if this was just a very vivid dream, he still wanted to know if his friends were alright.

"Thanks anyway." He stood up and dragged himself back to his cot, wincing as one of the rusty springs jabbed his bad shoulder. "I'm sorry you've been here for so long."

"Please. It's not that bad. We get bananas every Thursday, which by the way I will give you my pudding on Monday for," he said.

"Wait. You know what day it is?" Maybe if there was a calander or clock or something he could use the date to prove that this was a dream.

"Actually, I don't. It's an arbitrarily assigned day based on our two meal a day feeding schedual and the fact that every fourteen meals we get a banana. I like bananas, I like Thursdays, thusly, banana day is Thursday. We get pudding eight meals later, corresponding with Monday based on my banana based prediction of Thursday. It works out perfectly because I happen to like neither Mondays nor pudding."

"You're crazy." For the first time in what felt like forever, Raimundo let out a bit of a laugh, wincing as he did so at the pains it sent through his shoulder.

"No, I'm Seth King, former CEO of Outer Limits Financial," the man replied, his voice the sort of perfectly emotionless deadpan that indicated there was some sort of humor in his statement. He stood up from his cot and walked towards him, atrophied limbs shaking as he did so. He extended his hand in a gesture of welcome.

"Raimundo Pedrosa, current Xiaolin Dragon of the Wind," he said, standing and returning the handshake. Even though Seth's hands were thin, his grip was firm and authoritative.

"Now who's crazy?" Seth said, his tone betraying his smirk.

"Says the man who assigns days based on bananas."

"Says the boy who claims to be a dragon." At least he could say his hallucinations had a sense of humor.

**Alright everybody, I forgot to get Judges feedback yesterday and I don't see my trainer for couple of days so I'm deprived of criticism. I want it. Review for me!**


	5. Mr Tohomiko Accepts Gifts from Strangers

**Hey guys, I'm sorry this chapter took so long to get up. I've just been sort of busy this last month with horse stuff (Oz is really a wonderful beast. He just doesn't like to show it.) and then I had computer issues so I wound up handwriting this and the next chapter (I'm going to post that one in about a week) and then copied it into a word document. I'm not going to try and make excuses though and I'm just going to get this movie into the street or whatever the saying is. **

**TornadoWierdo: I've actually got two such jailbreak sequences planned. One of them's epic, with explosions and stuff, the other's considerably less so. Thanks so much for the review and for the feedback.  
**

**Spadefire: Yes, I get the feeling you're going to like Mr. King. All I'm going to say about him is that if people are reading my nonsense, they've seen him before. Thanks so much for the review and thanks for the congratulations.  
**

**Xemlovezyoux11233: Thanks for the review! :^)  
**

**Disclaimer: Stand back everyone! Nothin' here to see! Just story owning problems and in the middle of it me! Yes, TheXGrayXLady's here, hair blowing in the breeze, this fic needs my disclaimer expertise!  
**

**_Mr. Tohomiko Accepts Gifts from Strangers_  
**

_2:00 PM, July 17, 2012, Imperial Air Force Academy, Boston, United States  
_

"Class," Lady Ragnelle said, walking to the back of the classroom and flipping on the projector. "Tomorrow, you will begin the next phase in your training. Cadet Zekowski, will you get the lights?"

The red haired girl stood, saluted, flipped the switch, and returned to her desk. Moments later, the image of a Victoria Class airship appeared on the screen.

"As you well know, the twelve of you are the future of the Imperial Armed Forces." She paced to the front of the room, each word punctuated by the click of her heels on the stone tiles. "In order to facilitate your training as the leaders of the future, you will be shadowing a captain of an airship in order to familiarize yourself with the duties associated with the job."

His already flawless posture somehow straightened just a little more and he stopped fixing his pencils into perfect rows in order to better pay attention. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. His star was about to begin its meteoric rise. This was his chance. If he could show an airship captain what he was truly capable of, it could mean the start of a brilliant career. The captain would notice how talented and accomplished he was and request to keep him on as an officer after the apprenticeship was over.

He would start off as a humble second mate and then the ship would have a run in with one of the various rebel groups. His acts of heroism in the ensuing battle would win over the crew and they would demand his immediate promotion. He would, of course, turn it down because his respect for the first mate would be far too great to take his place, but the first mate would insist because he could not allow his talent to go unnoticed.

As the years went by, the captain's respect and admiration of him would only grow greater, the Emperor would even begin to take notice. Then one day, in recognition of his flawless service record, he would be called to the Imperial Palace and the Emperor would give him a ship of his own to command. It would be a custom ship, gleaming and straight from the assembly lines. It would be in the style of the old Victoria line, or maybe the Atlantis prototypes, he hadn't decided yet, and it would be fast, faster than even the African Swallow. Rebel groups would flee before him and the wrath of the Water Dragon…

"Cadet Greenberg, would it really be too much to ask for you to pay attention for two minutes?" Lady Ragnelle said, her sharp tone yet again cutting through his day dream. He gave an embarrassed shake of his head and tried to ignore the wave of giggles that passed through the room.

"Now, as I was saying, you will be assigned ships in order of class rank. When I call your name, proceed to the front of the room to receive your information packet then go to the front office where a transport shuttle will be waiting for you." Now was his chance. He was top of the class, he would be assigned one of the best ships.

"Cadet Rowley, the Solara." Good, his theory about class rank relating to ship quality was correct. The Solara was one of the first Victoria's produced and was more fit for the scrap heap than for active service. The only ship worse than it would be the Hamish, and _that_ was cobbled together out of spare parts after the Holmes-Adler collision last year.

"Cadet Jones, the Resplendent." Lady Ragnelle continued down the class list, and as every student went up to collect their packet, his excitement only grew. Finally, after what seemed forever, but was really only five minutes, she came to the upper end of his class.

"Cadet Strider, the Clockstopper." As the blond boy went to collect his packet, he looked around the room at the rest of his competition, Cadets Potts and Pine.

There were three Victorias still in play, the Stark, Enterprise, and Hamish, and another three Avalons, the Excelsior, African Swallow, and Galaxy. Cadet Potts was most likely to be given an Avalon as they fit her precise, detail oriented psychological profile, so she was no real threat. Cadet Pine, on the other hand, was an act first, ask questions later sort of guy. That sort of adventurous nature would translate best into a Victoria ship as they were more field oriented. He would most likely be assigned to the Stark, it had the aerial finesse suited to a natural pilot like Jim. And _he_ would wind up with the Enterprise.

That ship was an all-around performer, it didn't have the Clockstopper's speed, the Stark's turn radius, or the Watson's firepower, but whereas these ships were specialized, the Enterprise was by far the most versatile ship in the fleet.

"Cadet Potts, the Stark." Now that was unexpected. Perhaps Jim would get the Excelsior as it had the best handling out of all the Avalons. That's how it would work out. Then he would be assigned…

"The Enterprise." Damn. That still left him any of the Avalons though, the African Swallow was the fastest in the fleet, the Excelsior was still an option, and the Galaxy was another all-around ship, this wasn't a setback.

"Cadet Greenberg…"

"_Please be the Galaxy, please be the Galaxy, please be the Galaxy…"_

"The Hamish."

He wasn't entirely sure he heard correctly. He thought he was just assigned the ship made out of spare parts, but he could very well have been daydreaming. He tended to do that at important moments.

"Cadet Greenberg, please come and get your packet," Lady Ragnelle said, her voice sharp, but sweet and her impeccably manicured nails tapping on the edge of her desk in impatience.

"Excuse me, but I'm uncertain I heard you correctly. What ship was I assigned again?"

She gave an indulgent smile and her fingers rapped a little harder on the desk. "The Hamish."

"I don't understand. I'm the best in the class, how could I be assigned the fuckin' Hamish?"

"There is a wise old saying," she started, clearly reading from her desk calendar. "Any man can captain a good…" she glanced up at the clock, "Oh would you look at that? It's three already. You're no longer my responsibility. You can take your briefing or leave it, it makes no difference to me." With that, she practically ran from the room, a look of pure bliss at her now found freedom plastered to her face.

He cradled his head in his hands, resigned to his post at the vastly inferior ship he was given. He was most definitely not writing mother and father about this.

_**X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X**_

_****12:00 PM, July 18, 2012, Tohomiko Apartment, Tokyo, Japan  
_

"Papa, I'm home," Kimiko said, placing dinner on the coffee table. It wasn't anything fancy, cheap take out ramen, but neither of them could cook and it was all they could afford. "How was work?"

"Same as ever," he replied, not looking up from the radio he was dissecting. "Did anything interesting happen to you?"

"I had to fish some lady's purse out of a toilet tank. Does that count?" she said, flopping down on the couch, wincing as one of the springs jabbed her leg.

"It's certainly unusual. How did it get there in the first place?" He pulled a few wires out and laid them on the floor.

"I've stopped asking," she said. "Anything in the scrap heap?"

When her father started work at the factory, the sheer monotony of performing the same menial task day after day drove him crazy. Then he'd discovered the pile of broken down electronics and spare parts behind the main building. Every day after work he'd pick it over and bring home bits and pieces. Broken machines, frayed wires, worn gears, borderline dead batteries, and other things unusable in the hands of your average untrained factory worker, but born again in the hands of a skilled, if somewhat eccentric inventor. Sometimes, if she got out early, she'd come over and help out.

"You're not going to believe this," he said, his eyes lighting up in a manner normally associated with small children when confronted with an especially large Christmas present.

"Papa, I regularly see the governor of Tokyo turn into a tiger," she said, she would pretty much believe anything at this point.

"This is far better than that," he said, walking over to the sink and carefully washing the oil and other such dirt from his hands before retrieving his coat from the rack. "This is my greatest find yet."

He sat down on the couch next to her and pulled out something wrapped in a hastily washed work rag. Slowly, he undid the atypically careful folds of the fabric. Nestled in the center was a tight coil of metallic blue wire. It had a slight curve to it, as if it were to be set in a circle.

"Papa? What is it?" she asked.

"You remember the generators the factory makes?" he started, the overjoyed look on his face never wavering.

"They're essentially perpetual motion machines, right?" she asked. This couldn't be a piece though. The factories weren't so careless as to throw away an essential part.

"Exactly. I was sorting through the trash when the red haired boy showed up again. He found this under a burnt out capacitor. He said he didn't want it and didn't know what to do with it so he gave it to me."

"No catch?" she asked. She'd heard him talking about this guy before, but she'd never met him herself. He seemed like a nice guy from what her father said, although Papa had a tendency to only see the good in people.

"No catch. He couldn't use it and I want to find out how they work." The only workers who actually got to handle the generator parts were generally less educated in order to prevent tech theft, even though there wasn't really anyone who you could sell business secrets to anymore.

"That is way cool. I can't wait to get started!" she said. She had to admit that she enjoyed her papa's research just as much as he did.

"I know. I just have to wait for them to replace the old meters and sort out that issue with Mrs. Soki then we can start running tests." Their landlady did not approve of her father messing with the walls and insulation so that he would have better access to the building's electricity.

"I almost hope I don't hear back from the Hamish," she said, picking up the coil and noting its feather weight. It should still be a few days until she heard back.

"Oh," her Papa said, giving a bit of a start. "That reminds me…" He walked over to his radio and picked up a manila folder. "The other day the red haired boy mentioned that he knew the head of HR for the Hamish. He said he'd put in a good word for you."

"Oh my god. Is that what I…Oh my god…Hahahahahah! Yes! Thank you thank you thank you," she said, placing the coil back on the cloth before jumping across the room to hug her Papa.

This was everything she wanted, a good hands-on job where she could really let her expertise shine. The Hamish was perfect for her too. It was an eternal struggle to keep that one in the air. She'd heard rumors that it was held together solely by a combination of the head Mechanist's force of will and dark magic. She was more inclined to believe the team of elite Mechanists working tirelessly to keep it in working order.

"Don't thank me. I know how much this means to you," he said, if possible grinning even wider than before. "Fix that bucket of bolts for me."

"I won't let you down," she said. Perhaps she'd been a bit too quick in judging the junk heap ginger. He seemed like an okay guy after all.

"That's one thing even you can't do," he said.

_**X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X**_

_****9:00 PM, July 17, 2012, Imperial Aeronautics Plant, Seattle, United States  
_

He'd decided that there was nothing better than the sound of the finishing whistle. It wasn't a whistle really, it was more an out of tune trumpet had a baby with a dying elephant, but they called it a whistle and that was far more time efficient than calling it a dying elephant-poorly tuned instrument hybrid. Either way, it meant he could finally get those god awful gloves off his hands.

He turned off the hand welder and signaled to his belayer to lower him to the factory floor. The long trip down was punctuated with heart stopping drops and jerking as the obviously first time belayer struggled to control the rope, but by the time he reached the floor, he'd never felt better.

He never let on how much the high welding bothered him. With no solid ground below him, he'd never felt more vulnerable. If they knew the way his hands shook whenever he strapped into the harness, they might move him off the crew and that meant less pay to send home.

Slowly, he peeled the theoretically heat proof gloves from his hands, careful not to rub to hard against the heat blisters on his palms. He tossed them into his locker, along with the welding harness and breathed a slight sigh of relief.

They had a week of training starting Thursday. The new designs just arrived the other day, he didn't quite remember the name of the line, Atlanta or something, but he knew they looked complicated. The damn things looked to be built for speed and had all the angles and windbreaks associated with the faster ships.

In some ways, that was almost worse. The classes were just similar enough to slip back into old habits and just different enough that doing that made you make mistakes, and making mistakes got you fired, and getting fired meant that everything he'd done was for nothing. Constantly worrying about that was indefinitely worse than the shoulder soreness or blisters.

He tossed a couple of his dirtier jumpsuits into his bag in preparation for laundry night and was about to head out, when their supervisor's voice came through the loudspeaker.

"Would all shift B employees please report to the main floor," Mr. Fredrickson said. Damn. He tossed his bag back into his locker and idly wondered who left their harness on the floor this time. This probably meant another unpaid hour long safety lecture because some dead green numbskull left their things lying about.

"Yo Bailey," Jason Oggs said, running up behind him. "You know what this's about?"

"No idea," he muttered, trying to contain his frustration. He wanted to be back on his way back to his dorm, not towards lecture flats.

"I heard them talking the other day about a promotion," the brunette said, leading the way out the door. "Some big opening or something. You hear anything?"

"First I've heard of it," he said, ducking under the door frame.

"Would I ever steer you wrong?" he said, his trademark grin plastered to his smug face. Clay actually couldn't count on any number of fingers, toes, or other various limbs the times Jason was either ill informed, only had half the information, or was just making stuff up, so he wasn't going to get his hopes up on this. Tactfully, rather than tell Jason that he was full of it, he made a noise that could have gone either way.

It was a short walk to the main floor, but even with the idea that someone could be promoted, it seemed longer. That would mean better pay and better conditions, even if it was just to administrative assistant or something.

The sixty or so people of the B shift milled about the production floor, trading suspicions and worry, by the time they got there. Something massive was covered by a tarp in a back corner and Mr. Fredrickson stood on a platform above them, leaning forwards on the railing.

"Alright, everybody here?" he started. Without waiting for a response, he continued. "Let's cut right to the chase. They're looking for Mechanists on the Hamish and the head honcho wants them to come from manufacturing. Something about how you guys know these ships better than your random asshole on the street. Well, we're going to show him that we have the best random assholes in this damn street."

He bit back a comment about how that statement was self-contradictory. This was what he was looking for. Working on a ship meant that he wouldn't have to pay room and board on top of the slightly bumped pay scale.

"To pick which of you goes on the transport shuttle tomorrow, we've set up a little challenge for you," he said, gesturing at the tarp covered object in the corner. "As soon as I start the clock, that boiler's going to start overheating. Whichever of you stops it gets the spot." And he suddenly had a feeling that despite his confidence in their abilities, this wasn't one of Mr. Fredrickson's best ideas.

He was proven correct a moment later when the tarp fell back and the hoard rushed forwards to fix the boiler. He hung back, he was already at the edges of the group and he was nowhere near fast enough to get there first. He figured he'd swing in when they inevitably burned themselves on the metal.

With a few loud shrieks, the first few fell back, giving him a better view of the machine. He could see the problem, the machine was performing at a higher level than it should and the tank was too full, the pent up pressure had nowhere to go and the release valve was too hot to touch, but of course everybody just had to prove that they were strong enough for the job so they had to go sticking their hands on it.

There was an easier way though. All he had to do was follow the power cord back to the wall socket, pull the plug, and wait.

Mr. Fredrickson probably wouldn't care that it wasn't exactly what he meant by stop the boiler from overheating. They would be sending him to the Hamish for christ's sake. Even he knew that that ship was in worse shape than Uncle Otis after the bull riding incident.

Calmly, he walked around the crowd and to the back wall, waited for some of the participants to clear out, and yanked the cord from the socket. The boiler gave a sputter, but without power it soon stopped hissing and spitting.

"Bailey!" Mr. Fredrickson barked. He gave a slight start, perhaps he'd misjudged how seriously they were taking the test, but glanced up at the man's beet red face.

"Yes sir?" he called back.

"Did you unplug this?" He gestured to the boiler.

"Yes sir."

"Great. They need inventive guys like you to keep that piece of shit flying. You're hired."

**Hahahhahahhahahhah...I'm not going to lie, this is most definately not my best work, but my hands hurt, I'm tired, and I'm more or less satisfied with it. This was more or less a filler chapter and was for all intents and purposes just getting people to where they need to be. Things are going to pick up from here I promise. I've got some good arial battles coming up and I've got yet more witty chapter names that nobody has yet commented on and they're my favorite part of this whole thing! Anywho, to cut to the chase...**

**Go ahead, run away, say it in a review! Tell the world, tell a friend, tell them the tale. Get a pic, do a blog, heroes are over with! Look at them, not but words, Raimundo and co. (In other words, review for me. Please. :^)**


	6. Minerva Applies the Scientific Method

**Alrighty there, I'm sorry this took much longer than I anticipated to upload, but I had to deal with the sudden, but inevitable betrayal of Vanilla Instant Coffee and and learning how to be an adult (like seriously, the DMV is not something created by man nor any exsisting higher being.) Anyway, I have my laptop back now so I'll try to keep a faster update schedule, but soccer starts next week. And just as a quick warning, the next one will probably be short anf feature Mr. King throwing stuff at Raimund. And without further adieu, review response time!**

**Zgirl259: Yes. Yes it is. I do try sometimes. :^) Thank you so much for the review and I'm so glad you like this!**

**Spadefire: Thank you so much for the review! I tried so hard to keep everybody in character and It's sort of difficult with Omi and Clay as POV characters so I'm really happy you liked that! **

**Disclaimer: I'm a coolkid. I have coolkid swag. That swag does not happen to include a Xiaolin Showdown. Happy now?**

_**Minerva Applies the Scientific Method**_

Even though she'd reached this conclusion a millennium and a half ago, she was still impressed with how often her hypothesis proved correct. In fact, if there was a journal that catered to such things, she'd have published a good length thesis on the relative idiocy of the Xiaolin Monks by now.

Even after fifteen hundred years after her first forays finished, evidence was still pouring in; and this latest conversation was a prime example.

"I say we stop running and fight back," Domingo said, supporting her point as apparently none of their solo training sessions had sunk in. She'd tried to teach him her signature move, run the other way until the other guy lost interest, but it hadn't yet sunk in.

"Yeah. We can't just sit back while those airships scour the earth," Layla said, pacing the clearing like a caged animal.

"Young monks," Master Fung started. "It would serve you well to remember that the warrior who…"

"Chooses his battles wisely lives to see another day," Jermaine finished. "With all due respect Master Fung, I don't see the point in running any more. They just keep finding us."

The old man let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing, "I was going to say that perhaps now it would be best if we chose to fight now. Master Monk Guan and I have been discussing this for the past couple days and we've reached a decision. Tomorrow morning, we will begin plans to destroy one of the Heylin's greatest weapons."

And thusly, the lunatics had taken over the asylum. Not that she was complaining. She'd both proven her hypothesis _and_ played directly into her hands. Her main objective in this damnable backwater was to capture the monks alive. Their guardians made this a bit of a pain as Master Fung and Guan made taking them by force a bad idea and sleeping potions never had the intended effect on dragons. However, they had no chance of actually taking down an airship and if while attempting that they were mysteriously knocked out and tossed in the brig who was she to interfere?

Now, the best way to ensure that they were captured rather than killed was to direct them towards one of the smaller, weaker ships in the armada, the best candidate being the Hamish. That piece of shit was held together by Chase's pet mechanist's sheer stubborn force of will, they had the least chance of getting killed trying to take that one. At least, not by the guns or the crew, the ship itself was another story.

Steering them towards a clunker like that might prove a challenge though, they would want to target a bigger, more immediate threat. She would be forced to play the one card she thought she never would.

"Am I always going to have to be the voice of reason here?" She said, leaning back ad examining her nails in an over the top nonchalant manner. "Don't get me wrong, I'd love it if you horrible children got yourselves killed on a suicide mission, but I don't think they can kill me and I'm not really cut out for prison. Dojo, back me up on this."

In all her years with the Xiaolin monks, she'd consistently observed one thing. They cared a ridiculous amount about each other. If she could convince the Masters that beneath her prickly exterior she secretly didn't want to see them hurt she could get exactly what she wasnted from them. The kids were already sold on that in their wonderful naive bliss, but Master Fung didn't quite trust her and Guan had never liked her. She didn't want to play this card, if they actually succeeded she would have to deal with the consequences, but she'd observed that they tended to respond better to emotion than any well-reasoned argument. She had to make it subtle though or she ran the risk of giving the game away.

"I'm gonna side with them here Birdy. I'm tired of flying all over the world to get away from those mooks. We need to stand and fight," he said, coiling around Master Fung's head.

"Have you seen the lasers they've got on the new ones? Reports are in and apparently they've no problems with vaporizing an otherwise healthy adult elephant," she said. "And again, those prison cells. They're ten by ten and you're stuck with a cellmate. Somebody tell me that sounds pleasant? Mei, will you be my last bastion of sanity?"

The small girl jumped from her place at the campfire and almost started shaking with fear at the thought of giving an opinion. After a few moments of everybody staring, she spoke. "I…I don't mind what we do." A quick mind read said otherwise. She wanted to go on the raid. For all her shyness, she knew that her place was with the team. At the very least, she was the only one who could keep Layla out of trouble.

She gave a quick nervous glance around, careful to mask it just enough so that it didn't draw attention, but Master Fung and Guan still noticed. The slightly befuddled looks on their faces indicated that they were completely misinterpreting her motives. Perfect. She could move into the next phase.

"Fine. If I can't talk you out of it, just to let you know when I'm languishing in my ten by ten block with some unwashed heathen, I'm blaming you," she said, false irritation creeping into her voice just enough so as not to overplay her hand. "Dojo, where are we now?"

"Himalayan foothills," he said as she pulled out her phone. "Why?"

"Great. Freezing cold _and_ yaks, Just what we need right now," she said, pulling up a rebel website, . It was all for show of course, she knew exactly what was in the area, but they didn't need to know that. "We've got the Galaxy, Hamish, and English within range, with the Tennant due to arrive in two days." There was also the Dauntless, but the site in question wasn't exactly the most accurate thing on earth so she figured it would be best to keep that to herself. "I recommend the Hamish."

"Why would we want to do that?" Domingo spat, stretching his lanky limbs over the log he was using for a chair.

"Yeah, that ship's not worth anything," Layla said, pausing her pacing to stare dumbfounded at the woman she idolized for bravery for some reason.

"Precisely because of that," she said, pulling the inaccurate statistics of the Hamish up next to those of the English. "The rustbucket's perfect to practice on due to its reduced gun range and accuracy. Take for example the English, dual shot lasers and pinpoint accuracy. I'd rather go for the Hamish as a first time ship just based on that and I could go on for ages about this."

"I still don't get it. This is about making a statement and the Empire's not going to care about the Hamish," Jermaine said.

And now for the finishing touché. She would have to really wash her mouth after this. "Because if I can't talk you people out of this, I'd like you to please take the cautious route." She gave the old masters a barely perceptible concerned look to gage their belief. From the slight look of surprise on Guan's face, she could tell that the uncharacteristic please put her right where se wanted to be.

"I only hope you take my advisements into consideration," she said, standing and leaving the clearing, trying her best to look like someone who was trying not to look dejected.

"Now there's something you don't hear every day," Dojo said as soon as he thought she was out of earshot. She didn't even bother to bite back her smile. Game, set, and match.

As she walked, she took out her phone again and keyed in Chase's number. Just because she was peeved with him for unscheduled bombings didn't mean she wouldn't give him a fair warning just in case this fool's venture succeeded.

As per usual, he picked up on the first ring. "You always call at the worst times." She paused for a moment to hear the sounds of a council meeting in the background.

"Can't I tear you away from your concubines for just a minute?" she said,

"Just one," he replied. "Councilors, I'll be a moment. While I'm away, please review appendix H of subsection Q of your packets."

"Trying to implement th Darkhold plan?" she asked.

"Knight's Bridge. Darkhold didn't make sense economically." Under ordinary circumstances, she'd be thrilled. It was about time Chase learned the economics of running a global empire. However, being out of the loop was just a bit unnerving to her. She couldn't wait to get back to court. In the meantime, she would tell Viggo to replace her spies as these ones were obviously not doing their job properly.

"How are things in…Tibet?" he asked, even over the phone sensing her discomfort.

"I think it's northern India," she corrected. "Boring as ever and I don't have time for chit-chat because you would never guess what just happened."

"You frolicked in the snow."

"You're a genius," she said. "No really, not to scribble on your Mensa application, but I'm just giving you a warning; Master Fung and your old friend finally grew a pair and want to take out an airship. They're most likely targeting the Hamish."

He was silent for a moment, not a good sign, and then he gave an agitated sigh and continued, "Talk them out of it. Neither You, I, nor Wuya have time to deal with another wreck."

"Please. You give them too much credit. No, I was thinking more along the lines of live capture," she said, leaning back against a tree and giving her nails a proper going over.

"We can't afford to risk it," he said, the slight snarl in his voice betraying a desire beyond bureaucratic red tape to avoid the ship's destruction.

"Your pet will get over losing his favorite toy," she said.

"I'm not concerned with his idiocy. I'm grooming a cadet on that ship to be my future admiral and I can't risk ruining years of work," he said.

"You're still giving them too much credit. You wanted them captured and this is the best way. Besides, if one of them gets lucky you can always replace them. There's probably hundreds of cadets that would kill for a position like that," she said, rolling her eye.

"I don't care. You are permitted to target any ship save for that one," he said. Now he was just being an asshole. She wasn't going to change the target though. It was the best option for both sides and it wasn't worth the time and effort to undo her hard work, plus she needed to undermine his authority just a bit, just to make sure she still could.

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger. They don't trust me to put sugar in their tea. You think they let me in on the decision making process?" she shot back.

"Talk them out of it." His voice had taken on that no nonsense, cold steel tone that permitted no argument.

"I'll see what I can do, but I can't make any promises," she said.

"That's not good enough," he said.

"It'll have to be."

"Fine. If you can't fix this, at least keep the water boy from tagging along." That confused her just a bit, but she figured that he wanted to minimize damage and Jermaine actually thought things through. She'd figure it out later. Viggo would have decent spies in place after tomorrow anyway.

"I can't make promises." With that, she disconnected her call. She didn't feel like dealing with him being a primadonna after an unscheduled bombing.

**Hey baby won't you look my way? I can be your new addiction. Hey baby what you gotta say? All I'm givin' you is fiction. I'm a sorry sucker and this happens all the time. I found out that everybody reviews, everybody reviews, everybody reviews not nearly often enough. **


	7. Cadet Greenberg Receives Career Advice

**Alright, this took me awhile to write. AP English sucks more an I anticipated. I didn't consider that rather than learn useful writing skills we'd be doing nothing but poetry analysis and that the class would be full of annoying people who interpret everything to mean that the writer is depressed. I'm going to pretend that I don't totally hate it because I've got a few friends in the class and they make it quasi-bearable and they like the class. Anywho, this was originally supposed to be one chapter, but it was getting too long so I split it into two parts, one with Rai and Omi, and one with Kim and Min. The next part should be coming soonish and then things will really get rolling. **

**Spadefire: I know. Out of all the wacky dragons, Layla is my favorite too. Thanks for the review! :^)**

**Disclaimer: I'm actually done with this. Nothing is going to happen if I don't so what's the point?**

_**Cadet Greenberg Receives Career Advice**_

Cadet Greenberg paced his room, each measured click of his heels a part of a well thought out message: S.O.S. He'd been aboard the Hamish for one week and he was already starting to go crazy. They were currently floating just off the coast of China, not three hundred miles from a squadron of ships assigned to tracking the most dangerous rebel group in the Empire, and they were just floating here, not doing much of anything. The most excitement they were likely to see was the prisoner transfer later, and even then, that was going to be an ordeal.

Making matters worse, they were dealing with the Tennant. Captains Jones and Damara had this weird friendly rivalry, one upmanship thing going on, so the transfer would be conducted with all the associated formality and decorum. Thusly, he actually had to be there. That would mean Cadet Tyler would see him, and then she would blab to the rest of the class about his assignment, and then they would laugh at him. They would laugh at how the great Omi Greenberg had been reduced to the Hamish, a crazy inventor's pet ship.

His communicator buzzed, breaking his thoughts. He picked it up from his footlocker and read the message. "507 at 1300 hours. Be on the top deck in twenty for briefing." Shit. He thought he would have more than an hour until the transfer. And only twenty minutes to get into his dress uniform, make himself look presentable, mentally prepare, and cross the ship.

With a well practiced motion, he flipped the latch on his footlocker and started pulling it apart in his quest for the familiar hunter green cotton blend with gold piping of his dress uniform. He hadn't thought to take care when packing, he hadn't thought he would need to care about his appearance on the Hamish. It was supposed to be the place good officers went to die, not prisoner transfers where you had to be presentable. After a couple heartwrenching moments where he thought he'd forgotten his uniform in his fit of justified fury, he pulled the familiar fabric from the bottom of the trunk.

He made quick work of changing and upon noting the remaining time, pulled his boots on, scuff marks and all, and ran from his quarters, still buttoning his high-necked shirt. He could still make it if he hurried.

He darted across thin metal bridges, glowing blue with the light from the generators, and through dark bronze corridors, careful to avoid a pair of arguing mechanists, then up a set of spiral stairs to the polished wood top deck and across to Captain Damara.

The Captain was a tall, well built man with almost effortless perfect posture and thick, salt and pepper, slicked back hair. Despite his command of a lesser ship, his uniform was always spotless and his boots were so shiny you could see your reflection on his calves if you were so inclined. His personal grooming was likewise immaculate, Omi could not recall ever seeing him with so much as a single hair out of place. His meticulously polished ceremonial sabre gleamed in the sun, casting darting spots of bright light across the mahogany deck.

"Cadet," he said, his voice cutting just as sharply as his sabre. "You're late."

"I apologize for my tardiness," he said, maintaining eye contact. It would not do to show weakness. Captain Damara was a personable man, with a preoccupation for punctuality, but he was still a Captain in the Imperial Air Force. While Cadet Greenberg may have hated his assignment, he still fully recognized the importance of Captain Damara's opinion of him. "I make no excuses, it was my fault entirely."

"Your future career may depend entirely on being there before your competition," he said, his sharp tone softening a bit. "Remember that."

"I will do my best," he replied, bowing his head respectfully.

Captain Damara proceeded to lecture him on procedure and decorum and warned him about this particular prisoner. He'd apparently been caught up in one of the larger rebel groups, the Silver Dragons, not _the_ most wanted group, but certainly up there, and had a history of ill conceived escape attempts, robbery, and assault. However, just like anything involving the Hamish, it wasn't nearly as exciting as it sounded. Sure, the prisoner was a thug, but that was all. It wasn't like they took a rebel leader. They had a stupid teenager, caught stealing artifacts from a small-time noble's manor. He hadn't even taken anything valuable, just some shitty old coin.

_It's all going to be over in a few minutes anyway,_ he thought. He wasn't sure yet if he was thinking about the transfer or his reputation. There was no way the transfer could end well for him. For a few minutes, he stood at the railing, staring at the Tennant growing bigger in the distance. He remembered the last time he'd been on the top deck of a ship in flight, the field trip to the Resplendent, it'd been so beautiful, all the clouds laid out before him like a wide open white sea, the sun shining behind him, creating waves of shadow. The wonder he felt then had been replaced with a growing sense of dread. Nothing good would come out of this ship.

As it came within docking distance Captain Damara gestured for him to join him at the edge of the gangplank. He scurried across the top deck and did his best to straighten his uniform a little more. For a moment, he took his eyes off the guard across from him and turned to look at the contingent from the Tennant. Coming across the gangplank were Cadet Tyler and Captain Jones, followed by a decile of their guards, in the middle of which was the prisoner.

He had a dumbfounded look on his face, like he'd never seen sunlight before and was having a tough time making sense of it all. As they grew closer, he saw the prisoner start to breath heavy, as if he were having a panic attack. He looked a little older than he was, he would assume somewhere between eighteen and twenty, rangy build, dark skin, scruffy hair, dirty clothes, and patchy stubble. He looked pretty much like your standard issue gangster, dirty, disorganized, unkempt, absolutely revolting.

The Captains met at the edge of the gangplank, crossed sabres, and with the swords crossed, exchanged the prisoner's paperwork. Captain Jones nodded her head and took Captain Damara's place beside Omi and Captain Damara received the prisoner's chain from one of the guards. The guard bowed, the Captain motioned for him to rise and then turned and started to lead the prisoner towards the stairwell aboard the Hamish.

However, as the prisoner set foot on the top deck, the strangest thing happened. Cadet Greenberg made eye contact with the convict, his deep emerald eyes grew wide in shock. The boy muttered in a voice so soft you'd think he'd been silent the whole time, "No. No. This can't be..." then, the prisoner tipped his head back and laughed. It was a raucous, mad laugh, echoing throughout the sky. As he laughed, the prisoner sank to his knees, every now and then a word escaping his mad laughter. Never more than a quick word or phrase, "Dojo," "Kimiko,", "Clay," "I can't believe he..." before succumbing again to his insanity.

The guards watched the prisoner intently as his fit wound down into quiet sobs and, finally, stunned silence. One of the guards from the Tennant lifted him to his feet and he plodded along behind Captain Damara, his eyes glazed and his expression vacant.

What disturbed Omi most was not the dead look on the prisoner's face, not the mad laugh, not the muttering, but the unshakable feeling that he knew the boy.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been there. His life was now measured in bananas and pudding cups and dinnerware thrown when Mr. King thought he was being annoying. Spoons and bowls meant it was the morning "oatmeal," and forks or knives were for whatever they were passing off as dinner, mugs or plates were anytime missiles. He had to admit that for a crazy, emaciated man, he had a good throwing arm and stellar aim. Although for the low threshold for annoyance, it may very well have been through practice. Still, through all the boredom and thrown plates, he made good use of his time.

First, he'd noticed his condition. He was by no means out of shape, but compared to how he remembered himself, almost entirely lean, toned muscle, he was off. To remedy this, he'd started working out to the fullest extent his chain,and bad shoulder allowed. That led to Mr. King throwing things, claiming first, that it was annoying the crap out of him and that their captors weren't feeding them well enough to build muscle. Of course, he took the spoons in stride and the advice with a grain of salt, this was a madman who divided his time between sleeping, snarking, and pacing.

Secondly, he finally figured out what was going on. After the blast, Chase had captured him, planted false memories in his head via black magic voodoo, suppressed his wind powers with the same voodoo, and tossed him in a cell with either a dedicated actor or a crazy person. He was more inclined to think crazy person. He just needed to figure out how he was getting out of here and Dragon Dude was toast. Warm, buttery toast that lands butter side down and disappointed everybody in the kitchen.

More than anything else though, he wished he knew what was going on with the others. If Chase had taken them, he hoped that they weren't subject to this. It was bad enough that he had to suppress fake memories, he didn't want to know what Chase had cooked up for the rest of them. Still, he hoped they were free. If they were, he wanted them to leave him be, but he wouldn't object to a rescue.

His cellmate actually had good escape ideas. As he claimed, after one notable attempt, that was the reason they only gave him transfer prisoners as cell mates. Otherwise, they might be there long enough to allow for a viable escape. He told Raimundo parts of his latest scheme, but he hadn't quite finished it yet and didn't trust him enough not to blab to the guards. Of course, Raimundo didn't trust him either. He was either insane or working for Chase, neither option made him an ideal escape partner. Still, his ideas sounded good.

Once he got by the whole, probably working for the enemy and throws things thing, Mr. King really probably wasn't that bad a cell mate. He kept to himself when he wasn't snarking, he was at the very least interesting to talk to, even if some of his stories about his days as a genius, billionaire, playboy, jetsetter sounded completely ridiculous, and while he could tell the man didn't believe his stories about being Dragon of the Wind, he humored them. That alone made it easier to concentrate on those memories.

He got up of his cot and dodged a plate turned frisbee before dropping to the floor for a series of pushups. He needed the physical activity to keep his mind off his captivity and powerlessness and on his escape. He had the beginnings of a plan. The other day a knife skittered under his cot after he'd apparently been especially annoying and the guard thankfully came to collect their silverware when his cellmate was asleep so he could convince the man that they'd only received one knife between them It now resided under his matress. Now, he just needed to wait until one of the guards got a little too close. It wasn't a very big blade, nothing like his swords, but it was enough to do damage in the right hands. His hands. Then it would just be a matter of getting the keys to his handcuff and it was time for iguana toast.

Judging from the now familiar metallic grinding sound of the dead bolt sliding free far ahead of schedule, he might just get his chance now. He reached under the springs and closed his fingers around the cool metal handle. Light flooded the cell as the guard entered. He shot to his feet, careful to keep the knife behind his back, out of sight of the guard. He came closer, Raimundo wasn't sure if the clinking and sparkling of keys were real or imagined.

"Alright temp," he said, his voice low and soothing. "Time for your transfer." He reminded himself that it was all an act. No matter what happened, there wouldn't actually be a "prisoner transfer." At the very worst, he would be put in solitary confinement or something.

Although perhaps it would be best to edit his plans now, because if it his chain was unlocked and he kept the knife hidden on his person, he could get much farther into Chase's citadel before he needed to use it and call undue attention to himself. He quickly shoved it into the waistband of his prison issue pants. That was another thing he was going to make Chase pay for. There would be many glorious kneecappings to be had over the ugly green cotton things.

The man unlocked the chain at the wall and led him out of the cell, ignoring Mr. King's only half joking complaints that _he_ should be released for good behavior. As he left the cell, he noted that the smooth coppery metal of the dungeon hallways looked nothing like any part of Chase's rock fortress he'd ever seen before. That didn't concern him though. The citadel was huge, there were sure to be places he'd never seen before. This was just a part of the citadel.

They walked further along the corridors, ignoring the heckling from the other prisoners and up a set of spiral stairs that creaked and moaned with every step they took. For some reason, his breath came in short bursts and he almost felt nervous. He knew he could take anybody in Chase's guard, he shouldn't have been nervous. This wasn't going to be that bad. When they tried to put him in the new cell, or took him to Chase, or whatever, he'd pull his knife and everything would be fine. He would then rejoin his friends and go back to the temple and hunt down the wu. Everything would be just fine.

Still, the knife blade burned cold against his back.

Then they reached the top of the stairs. The only thing in the world seemed to be the rush of wind and a sea of cloud before them. Not the parallel of green clad soldiers, not the wooden deck polished to a mirror-like shine, not the strange vessel just on the other side of a wooden plank, nothing but wind and cloud. His guard handed his chain off to a dark woman, it's silvery links gleaming in the sunlight, and she led him across the plank. He followed her, but didn't really. His body went along, but his mind was back at the temple, watching it crumble and fade to white around him.

As he came back from his ethereal journey, they reached the other ship, tower, castle in the sky, whatever it was, and he saw a sight that stopped his heart. Standing in a group of soldiers, still barely shoulder high on the shortest of them, head shining like a beacon, was Omi. When he made eye contact with the boy, he knew. The boy didn't recognize him. His best friend didn't know he was, the kid had been like one of his little brothers and now nothing. Nothing.

His life had been for nothing. The last three years of his life, nothing. Winning showdowns, saving the world, nothing more than a half-remembered delusional dream.

**So I really want reviews on this chapter because I've got a couple of questions for you guys. First off, do you want me to continue with this fic? If so, what would you like to see from it? Is there anything about this fic that isn't working and how should I fix it? Anyway, leave me a review anyway because I like reviews and they're awesome. **


	8. Mr Bailey Learns Basic Circuitry

**Alright, this fic is not dead in the water. I've just been going through some stuff and I've lacked motivation for it. Stuff will likely be coming faster in the future and we'll be golden. **

**xXxTDI AngelxXx : Thank you! I really appreciate your kind words. **

**Grape Icies: Thank you! Yeah, it's a bit off kilter ATM but it's fixing itself out slowly but surely...Thank you so much for your help and I really appreciate the critique. **

**Spadefire: Thank you so much for all your help and the criticism. Yeah, slow updates mess with stuff, especially when it's weird stuff to begin with. **

**Actual Criticism: Thank you for taking your time to write a review and thank you for taking the time to write up such an in depth critique. I assure you, I am working to address the issues you brought up****. However, if you are who I think you are, then you are a petty, vindictive, little bugger. I'm sorry if I seem a bit non-reactive, it's been months since I've read your review the first time and I really genuinely do want to thank you for the critique.  
**

**TW: I am genuinely sorry you thought I was talking about you.  
**

**And without further adieu, on with the fic, which I assure you dear readers, will examine themes...**

_**Mr. Bailey Learns Basic Circuitry**_

_2:00 PM, July 24, 2012, Somewhere over the Pacific_

Kimiko had to admit, the job wasn't what she was expecting. It was better than what she had, but she'd been expecting excitement, challenges, stimulation, something more than this. She certainly hadn't expected to be fetching coffee for the higher ups.

And it burned her to know that no matter what she did, it wouldn't get her anywhere. Her superiors knew that somebody had pulled strings to get her this job, they knew who she was, and they figured that she was some rich brat whose daddy paid off the Empire's HR department to take his little princess. And she wasn't willing to play the pity card, if they thought her family still had money, then she wouldn't correct them. They could look down on her, they could demean her, they could berate her, but they would not pity her. She'd rather have them think her a spoiled brat than an object of pity.

Thankfully, their judgment also earned their protection. They thought her family had powerful connections, and thusly even though they did not like her, they would not fire her. They did not need to know otherwise because even though this wasn't what she'd expected, but it was still better than scrubbing bathrooms. Still, as she ran across the catwalk, she wished she had just a little more work.

This time around, she was bringing Captain Damara his tea, Earl Grey, hot, two sugars and lemon, when she saw something horrifying. At the other end of the catwalk, there was another mechanist, a boy not much older than she was, working, if you could call it that, on a section of engine wiring and clearly had absolutely no idea what he was doing

"No. Don't do that!" she said, dropping the earl gray and bolting across the catwalk. The boy dropped his tools and looked up at her, seeming quite startled by her. He was tall, thickset, but not heavy, with shaggy straw hair and a baffled, but almost grateful expression.

"Do what?" he asked, as she picked up his tools and started to work on the wiring. His voice was dominated by an odd accent. She was pretty sure it was American, but it sounded nothing like her English tutor's American. It didn't matter though.

"You were about to connect a low-resistance wire through this terminal," she said, poking the terminal with a set of pliers. "Without a resistor. There's a second wire running through the terminal with a higher resistance and without the resistor, the electricity will flow through the path of least resistance, the low-res wire, cutting off power to the wire with higher resistance, which feeds into the engine's cooling system. Without power, the cooling system fails, the engine overheats and blows."

"What?" he said, looking over her shoulder at the repairs she made to the wiring. "With all due respect miss, I can't understand what yer sayin'."

"No wonder this entire panel is off," she muttered, cringing as she inspected the faulty wiring. She prided herself on being relatively nice, but when dealing with people who were so obviously stupid, she had no patience.

"There's no need ta be rude," he said. "Was it really that bad?"

"Yeah. If you actually switched this on, we'd either drown or burn up within an hour," she said.

"How long ya been working here?" he asked, staring at the panel.

"Two weeks now," she said, selecting a wrench and twisting a bolt into place.

"Same," he said, handing her the cover for the panel. She bit back a harsh laugh. Here she was, brilliant and underappreciated yet an ingrate working here for the same amount of time was given important responsibilities. "Where'd ya learn to do that?

"My papa was an electrician," she lied. Even though he was an idiot, it was nice to have someone who treated her normally.

"Ya think ya could teach me?" he asked, following her back to the catwalk to help pick up the shattered cup. "I'm not real good with this sorta thing. The closest I've done is fixin' tractors back home and I don't think this is anythin' like that."

"It's not," she said, picking up the cup handle. "A tractor generally has a basic combustion engine, whereas this is essentially a perpetual motion machine in that…"

"I get what it is," he said, picking up porcelain shards. "The engines power themselves with energy created by nonstop motion." She glanced up at him and blinked, dumbfounded that somebody like him, a country hick who almost did the impossible, wrecked the Hamish, had an understanding of incredibly complex engines. She had no idea how to even begin to respond to that and so went back to cleaning.

"So how'd ya wind up here?" he asked. "I figure a smart girl like you would be wirin' the bridge or somethin'."

"Before this, I worked as a cleaning lady to pay rent on my family's apartment. They underestimated me because of where I came from," she said. That was the closest she would willingly come to the truth.

"That's stupid," he muttered. "They didn't even check if I knew anythin' before sendin' me down here."

"So how'd you end up here then?" she asked, setting down the broken tea cup and sitting on the catwalk. It was nice to talk to somebody who didn't act like she was some sort of spoiled brat.

"Lied my way outta the factory cuz the pay was good and I needed money to send home," he said, sitting down next to her. "Thought I'd do fine, but turns out that I knew more about weldin' than wiring'."

"I'd trade with you in a heartbeat," she said. "At least you're doing something. I'm just their errand girl."

"You'd be more in your element than I am. Plus, bein' completely modest, I make a mean cuppa earl grey."

"Gotta be better than me. I've never made tea before working here…"

"Never made tea?"

"Never," she said, shaking her head. "My dad and I just drank coffee and if we had tea for guests or something it was always powdered or in a tea bag or something. According to my boss, the stuff I'm making with the loose leaf is, "nasty." She thought she did a spot on impersonation of Lisa's New York accent.

"Powdered tea?" he asked, still thoroughly befuddled by the concept.

"Yeah. It's kinda a big deal where I'm from." She could still remember how confused she was figuring out that the icky brown water Papa set out for his business associates was made from leaves.

"Where ya from?"

"J…" No, her English was way too good to pass off as a normal person without the knowledge that she'd had expensive tutors. "ersey." Damn, that was almost as bad. She wasn't orange, she didn't have a hair poof…

"My cousins live in Jersey. Real nice place if you get away from the cities or the Jersey Shore. I'm from Texas," he said, not without a touch of pride. "I'm Clay. Clay Bailey." He extended his hand for her to shake.

"Kim Tohos," she said, shaking his hand. It would be better if he didn't know who she was. She'd finally made a friend and she wasn't going to lose him because of her history.

**_X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X_**

_5:00 PM, July 24, 2012, Himalayan Foothills, India_

"That's it," she said, gently placing the scroll on the log. "I quit. You have achieved in months what it took Grand Master Dashi fifteen years to do. I hope you're proud of yourselves. I'm done."

"Wait, what did we do?" Layla asked.

"What did you do?" she muttered, ringing water out of her hair. "That's a good question. What did you do?" The kids did jack. And she was tired of it. They had no control over their powers and this whole blow up an airship plan, which was a terrible idea in the first place, was going to go belly up rather quickly.

"We did nothing. We did exactly what we were supposed to do," Domingo said, glaring daggers at her.

"Nothing wasn't exactly what you were supposed to do," she muttered.

"You know what he means," Jermaine said. "We almost had it this time."

"I'm sure you _tried_," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "Hot Air, that was way too much power. Curly, that was nowhere near the target. If my head was the target, it'd be spot on, but it isn't. Mouse, what was that? Why is that target still there. Jinkins, I'm not even going to comment on that."

"But it's only training," Layla said, brushing some dirt from her curly hair.

"Only training," Guan said, shaking his head, for once supporting her. She almost felt sorry for the dragons, there was nothing more dangerous than the fury of a quiet man. "This isn't training anymore. We are at war with the Heylin. We no longer have time for mistakes."

"Then teach us rather than give commands," Domingo said, shooting to his feet. He ignored Master Fung's glare, telling him that he had one more chance to back down.

"Dom, dude, calm down," Jermaine said, grabbing his arm and forcing him to sit down.

"I am perfectly calm!" he said.

"Dude, no."

"This is why I'm done," she said, tossing her hands up and leaving the clearing. She was done with this, she was going back to high society and officially taking her rightful place as second in command and she would start planning to overthrow Chase and take full control herself. She no longer cared about how Chase wanted her to handle the monks, they were no real threat anyway and at the rate they were going, they'd destroy themselves.

"Leaving so soon?" In her rush, she hadn't noticed Dojo following her. Of all people, Dojo should have known that she generally meant it when she said she was leaving. Of course, he would also know that she generally came back.

"I'm not going to be here when this battle ship plan goes south," she said, shouldering her bag and envisioning the first hot shower she'd take once she was away from here.

"Don't you at least want to watch Guan and Fung chew them out? We can pretend to have popcorn," he said. "Come on. I know they're not much, but they're good kids."

"It doesn't matter how good they are, they're not progressing fast enough and I don't have time for this."

"They're going to pull through," he said. "They may be behind on their elemental training, but they're just as skilled and just as scrappy as the four of you were."

"Behind on their elemental training…" she muttered. "Dojo, the things I just saw weren't Wudai level stuff. I'd be damned if I called it Apprentice level elemental control. None of them have half the ability we had."

"But they have just as much heart. Domingo trains until every movement is perfect, Mei studies every scroll we saved until she knows them by heart, Jermaine has intense focus, and Layla stands up for what's right, no matter what," he said, hopping to her shoulder.

"Heart doesn't save lives," she said. "Heart doesn't topple regimes." Thank the gods it didn't. "Dojo, even you can't deny that there's something wrong with these kids."

"We just haven't had the time…" he started.

"No, she's right," Master Fung said. Evidently, she wasn't leaving without an extended goodbye. "It's not only the time, but there is something odd about their powers. They seem almost uncomfortable with their hosts." It was about time somebody agreed with her.

"So if they're depowered, what are we going to do about it? Some old scroll with mystical power ups or something?" Dojo asked, hopping from her shoulder to Master Fung's.

"There is no time to alter the plans now. We will continue with our assault on the Hamish for the time being," Master Fung said. "We will begin research into their problems and search for a solution afterwards."

"So does that mean…"

"Yes Dojo, I'm afraid it does," Master Fung said. She didn't like where this was going.

"What does that mean?" she asked after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"You see, this is what happens when you abandon you friends. You get left out of the loop for fifteen hundred years and you don't get the temple secrets and you don't understand the in jokes," Dojo said, making a subtle tsk-tsk noise.

"Oh yeah, like Dashi was totally blameless in that situation." Those were arbitrary rules that could easily be ignored or bent and he knew that in a choice between her element and her magic, she'd choose sorcery every time.

"Young ones, let us not assign blame to a situation fifteen hundred years past," Master Fung said. Every day in every way she was becoming more and more certain that Master Fung played up the old monk routine to mess with people. "But to return to the topic at hand, before giving up his element, Grand Master Dashi built a secret addition to the temple library, containing scrolls that were better kept out of Heylin hands."

"Like, more powerful stuff than the restricted section," Dojo added.

"The restricted section had such deadly titles as _Twenty Recipes for Goat_," she said. It wasn't like the restricted section had phenomenal security anyway.

"Have you ever tasted your cooking?" Dojo replied. Now _that_ was a low blow.

"No matter how the squalls may cry, they will not stir the river from its course," Master Fung said, somehow managing to give both of them death glares. "The library may contain the answers we seek, but it means that we must return to the ruins of the temple."

Damn. She was so close to actually leaving, then they had to go and wave that little bit of information in front of her. Well, she supposed hot showers would have to wait until afterwards. If the last year hunting down those magical doohickys taught her anything, it was that Dashi knew how to hide stuff he didn't want to have found.

**I appologize if anybody was offended by my outburst above. If I could make it up to you, I really wish I could. Instead, I'm just going to annoy you guys for reviews, if that's alright with you. **


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